Thursday, November 28, 2013

The Shower Curtain

The other day, Sam and I were driving in a car with my mom and dad. They mentioned that they were planning to go to a particular store, and I said, "oh! I need a new shower curtain! Can you pick one up for me?"

Then we discussed what kind I wanted. I like the plain, clear ones. Makes the bathroom look bigger.

Sam piped up: "why do we always have a clear shower curtain?"

I explained why I liked it (seriously? why does an 8 year old care about the shower curtain?) and he said, "well, I think we should get one with flowers on it." (It might have been the World's Longest Conversation Ever About Shower Curtains)

Really? Flowers?

"Really, mom. Flowers."

So guess what we got?
Yep, a flowered shower curtain. Our first one ever.

So why is this remarkable? Why am I writing about this incredibly mundane purchase?

I put it up last night. I took a shower this morning. It is different, it is unusual.

It makes me think of Sam.
It makes me think of what it's going to be like when he's not here.

I know that I'm trying desperately to live in the now, in the moment, in the I-have-him-and-I-should-focus-on-that.

But it's hard, oh-so-hard, not to imagine what it's going to be like.

Every time I look at the shower curtain.


  1. What a beautifully simple way to give you flowers every morning!
    My heart still aches so much for your family and we're keeping you in our prayers. May you all have a lovely Hanukkah!

  2. wonderful and moving post
    May G-d give you strength, and may you find small things like that to make Sam happy.

  3. Whatever you do, however you is perfect. You can be nothing but authentic in this situation. Cry when you need to, laugh when you want (no matter how inappropriate it might seem to others), rage at the Fates, embrace the joy, LIVE each day.

    The rest of us will continue the prayers and hopes and wishes.

  4. We are all thinking of that, too. Wishing we could pray it into not happening; knowing that all we can do is be here, with love.

  5. As a mother I want to put my arms around you, Phyllis, when you think of Sam not being here. There is such sadness in that thought that all I want to do is comfort you. I know you have wonderful friends and family lifting you up, and I want you to know that I am trying to do the same from my heart.

  6. I really don't know what to write. my heart is aching as I am reading your post. sam is in our tefillot. much love and warmth .

  7. Yes. You will treasure that shower curtain.

    I lost my son recently. Towards the end, we were worried he wouldn't make it, but we never walked the path that you are now walking - knowing. My heart aches for you...for myself.... for any parent who must go through anything like this. This is a pain no one should have to suffer.

    I don't know what to say, I don't know which thoughts that run through my mind to type would be of comfort and don't want to say anything "wrong."

    I just know that sometimes, it is a comfort to me to hear from others and feel their love and their sharing in my heartbreak, so I want to send my love to you as you go through this awful journey.

  8. I see my boy in the pictures of your sweet Sam. My boy just had his eighth birthday, like Sam. He has Acute Lymphoblastic Lymphoma and wears SpongeBob pj's like Sam's. (With non-matching pants. Cancer kids spend a lot of time in their pj's, and it seems like we're always mixing and matching). I've been reading your blog for a while but couldn't comment until now. There is a lot of love coming your way, a lot of prayers, and hopes for peace in your heart.